


Under Pressure Under Water

by trollmela



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-01
Updated: 2013-10-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:11:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éomer is reluctant to agree to Éowyn’s marriage. Éowyn’s bold plan to apply pressure on him gets Faramir into trouble with his king, but luckily Aragorn is willing to help the couple without provoking Éomer's wrath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under Pressure Under Water

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by David Wenham’s DVD commentary (Special Extended DVD Edition, The Return of the King, scene “Houses of Healing”) in which he reveals that he met Miranda Otto at a casting ten years before filming the Lord of the Rings. For the casting they were required to pretend to have sex in a bathtub. According to Wenham, neither could contain themselves and the director got annoyed. I assume they didn't get the roles ;)

**III 3019, July 19, morning**

The war was over. Peace reigned both in Gondor and Rohan. The people of the White City had come together to rebuild their once glorious capital. Old and young, men and women, all who could lend a hand and be of use, worked together beneath the summer sun. The shadow of Mordor had passed and the people were in high spirits, for the day before, Éomer the horselord had come with his people. In a few days' time, they were to escort the body of Théoden King to Edoras to be buried there. Until then, the riders, too, made themselves useful.

But while outside the people worked alongside each other peacefully, inside the citadel an angry voice was to be heard in the guest wing. It was a maiden who was so wroth, and a passer-by would have been aghast indeed to hear it stemmed from no other than the lady Éowyn of the Riddermark. Thankfully, while they would have recognized her tone, they would not have understood the words she threw into her brother's face, for she spoke the tongue of Eorl, and as the friendship between Gondor and Rohan had been in decline during the last steward's reign, few were fluent in this language.

The future king of Rohan stood with crossed arms and furrowed brows before a window in a pathetic attempt at ignoring his sister. Rather would he have undertaken another trip to Mordor than be here with her. Unfortunately, the volcano, which before might have been capable of instilling greater fear than his sister on the warpath, was no more, and his window showed nothing but the Pelennor, the River Anduin, and Ithilien in the far distance. Just the sight of Ithilien caused a nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. Was it not the princedom of the man Éowyn had pledged herself to? The place where she was to dwell? While in sight of Minas Tirith, it was too far from Edoras.

"Can you really imagine dwelling there?" he demanded of her with an unhappy expression and a vague gesture of his hand at the woods of Ithilien. "The forest seems so dense. No open spaces, no plains to ride on."

"I'm sure there's enough space to take a horse through!" his sister responded sourly. "You did not listen to a word I said!"

"Not really," he admitted, as he was a truthful man, but promptly regretted it when his sister punched him fiercely in the back of his shoulder. He grunted. Surely that had been her sword arm. Slowly, as not to give her the impression that he was retreating, he put some distance as well as some furniture between them.

Behind his back, Éowyn shook the sting from her hand and scowled at her brother.

"When will you cease tormenting Faramir – not to mention me! – and give your consent to our marriage! I have already given my word. I cannot believe you told him no!"

"I didn't tell him no. I simply said I had to think about it," Éomer argued, finally turning to her.

"What do you have to think about?! Am I marrying him or you? And may I remind you that he asked you directly after you returned from the Black Gate and has therefore been waiting since the end of March for an answer? It's July!"

"Of course it's you who would marry him. But you're my sister and such decisions require time for reflection. I am the future king of the Riddermark and as my sister you hold an important position in Edoras..."

"Don't give me that horseshit!" Éowyn interrupted furiously, banging her balled fist onto a low table placed conveniently between them. Convenient for Éomer, that is, as it afforded him some protection from his enraged family member.

Éomer stared at her with his best black look. Éowyn, however, would not be intimidated. The future king checked a sigh.

"Is it so difficult for you to understand that I do not wish to lose you?" he asked, voice low as if afraid somebody might overhear his admission of feelings one could judge unmanly. "Our uncle is not yet buried and now you are to leave me, too? Am I to be left utterly alone in a devastated land to rule as I was never meant to?"

Now the horseman could not repress another sigh. He turned away from Éowyn to escape, briefly as it was, her sharp gaze, and lowered himself into a chair.

"I wish..." he broke off. Bema help him, he wished Théoden had not fallen, that Théodred had not been killed ... he wished for so many things in the aftermath of this terrible war and it shamed him for weakness did not become a future king.

His sister laid her arms around him from behind, a compromise between comfort and the preservation of his pride, and Éowyn's head came down to rest atop his own locks. Gratefully he grasped the hands she had clasped in front of his chest. The horror he had felt on discovering her on the Fields of the Pelennor coursed through him anew and he shuddered. Éowyn tightened her arms.

"If I had lost you…" he voiced his thought but once more halted. Wordlessly his sister kissed his hair.

Éomer stood, breaking through the circle of the shieldmaiden's arms. Once more he walked towards the window, where he turned to look upon his sister.

"I'm sorry, Éowyn. I am not ready. I cannot give Faramir the answer you want." And truly he did feel wretched but he would not change his mind.

His sister's lips thinned and her eyebrows drew together in displeasure. She knew now the reason but would not accept it. However, she kept her counsel to herself, turned on her heel and left the room, slamming the door on her way out.

Éomer winced.

* * *

**III 3019, July 19, afternoon**

The gardens of Gondor had unfortunately been badly neglected during the past few years leading up to the war. Once they had been the pride of Faramir's mother Finduilas, now they resembled more the wilds than the gardens on the highest level of Minas Tirith. But the prince of Ithilien was confident that the elven Queen Arwen would make them a place to be cherished once more. He did not worry about this place and was in fact glad to leave it.

There were two people he would take with him to his new princedom: Beregond, who had saved his life in the Rath Dínen, and Éowyn, the shieldmaiden he had chosen as his wife the day the eagles had come proclaiming victory. And this last one, to whom he had lost his heart so easily, was denied to him by her brother, the future king of Rohan.

Now she walked beside him through the overgrown paths of Finduilas' garden. But the thought that she would not walk the garden of Ithilien with him tore at his heart. She was silent this day, and Faramir suspected that she was thinking about their future, just as he was. Éowyn, he knew, had spoken to her brother that morning, but to what conclusion they had come she had not revealed. Faramir deduced that the outcome had not been favourable for them.

Faramir did not know, though maybe he should have, that his lady was not willing to simply give in and wait for her brother to give his consent. In her mind she sought a way to pressure Éomer into action. And what ways were there? She cast a speculative eye on the man she considered her betrothed. Courageous he was, she had heard, honourable, too, this she knew. Yet honour would not help them in this matter, she deemed; courage was needed, and a boldness bordering on impudence.

The prince's gaze rose to meet hers, and looking into his grey eyes she decided to risk it:

"Faramir, do you wish me to be your wife?" she asked.

"Éowyn, you know that I do. I would call you my White Lady as you would call me your lord. I owe you my return to life as much as I owe it to Lord Aragorn."

There was great love in his eyes, and she returned his gaze with just as much feeling. She, too, owed her life to him. From their very first meeting she had been intrigued by this serene man, who had returned from war gravely injured and been deeply affected by the loss of both his brother and his father. And yet, despite all of this, he had shown an inner strength she admired and which had allowed her to find her own courage.

Indeed, the White Lady of Rohan had fallen, as folk said, and fallen hard. Love was great, love gave strength, but love was also blind and could lead to deeds one could call mad. So it was for her, and now she had to see whether Faramir would risk the same as she for their love.

"And how far are you willing to go for us to be wed?" Éowyn asked.

Faramir frowned. "Has your brother set a test? Some proof of courage or love I must give to be judged worthy by him?"

"No Faramir, no test," Éowyn admitted. "But my brother is reluctant to consent to our marriage and I do not wish to wait for as long as he would have me." She halted in her steps and forced Faramir to stop also. She clasped his hands in hers, looked around to see that they were alone and then once more met his eyes.

"I plan to force him to give his consent. But for this, I will need your help. You may need to risk much, perhaps more than is wise, and I cannot even guarantee for our success."

This, perhaps, was the time when the prince of Ithilien realized that the lady he had chosen was not only fair; she had also deceived her way into an Éored on its way to Gondor and fought the witch-king. He, too, scanned the gardens for witnesses, be they human, elves, dwarves or hobbits. They were truly alone.

"What is your plan?" he asked.

Éowyn leant in close to him and explained her idea in a low whisper. Faramir's heart sank until it seemed to have fled to the first level of the city. Certainly the king would banish him from Minas Tirith for this. Love had truly made him mad that he would even consider this.

* * *

**III 3019, July 19, evening**

His hands trembled. They were clutched around a bundle of towels he carried like a shield in front of him. His eyes frantically scanned the hallway for witnesses of his passing. He did not know if he should be thankful that there were none, or regret it. For if there had been someone, like Éomer for example, he would have had a perfect excuse not to creep into the baths like a thief in the night.

The baths were generally a common area but at this time of night it would be easy to find an unoccupied spot, not to mention that there were smaller tubs in a separate room for those who did not wish for company (or only a limited amount of it). That was the room he was seeking out.

He hesitated in laying down his burden. This was his last chance to retreat. He closed his eyes, and a picture of Éowyn came to him in his mind, a shieldmaiden with golden locks, wrapped in his mother's cloak, and inside him a yearning for her stirred. For a brief moment of weakness he wondered how her body would feel in his arms, how she would react when he whispered kisses onto her unclothed skin.

When he opened his eyes he was already bare, hands having moved without his conscious thought. His trousers lay around his ankles and he hastily put them away before someone came upon him. His tunic quickly followed and once the last clothes had been removed, he quickly climbed into the hot water. It slowed his quickened heart to an acceptable level once more.

As his head rolled back to rest on the tub's rim he inhaled the sage perfuming the air. His trembles had not ceased.

"Éowyn," he whispered. Faramir opened his eyes, perceiving the presence of another person, and saw the woman he loved, wrapped in a green cloak from head to toe. And he saw that her fists clutched the cloth at her throat not only to prevent it from falling open. Her wide blue eyes stared back at him, all her confidence of that afternoon gone.

The prince of Ithilien sat up and shifted to the edge of the tub, both to be closer to her and spare her the intimate view of his body which was thus hidden by the rim. His hands rested on the edge as he looked up at her.

"Éowyn. It is not too late for you to leave." And his eyes almost begged her to turn her back and return to her chambers the way she came.

The cloak dropped and Faramir's eyes followed it to the floor to avoid looking at her.

"Damn thine honour," she growled, her voice hoarse and trembling.

"And yours?" he asked without expecting an answer. He retreated to give her space to step into the bath which she did as quickly as humanly possible. His eyes snapped up to her face. It was flushed.

Mutely they stared at each other for some time. Finally Éowyn asked: "Will you not kiss me?"

This time the prince moved slowly toward her, as if giving her ample time to change her mind. His hands came up to frame her face and he tilted his head. Her arms wrapped around his neck, their chests pressing together as their lips met softly. Faramir attempted to restrain himself and give her time to get used to his touches, assuming that she was inexperienced, but a soft moan from her was his undoing. He gave in, pulling her closer in his weakness, and she leant in eagerly. And once more Faramir's presumption was proven wrong, for the Rohirrim lady knew very well how to enflame him. He did not even hear his own sounds of desire. The door being slammed shut penetrated through the fog of his mind.

His head jerked up, expecting to see the worst, and yet he was not prepared for the man who stood stone faced at the door. It was Aragorn. Faramir paled.

"Sire," he gasped. Éowyn froze in his arms.

"Faramir, I suggest you come out of this bath right now and follow me back to your chambers," the king said levelly.

Faramir's hold loosened and Éowyn turned her head only briefly to look at Aragorn before blushing with shame and avoiding his gaze.

"I can explain..." Faramir stuttered, though he knew himself that there was nothing to explain. The situation was clear enough. Aragorn interrupted him anyhow.

"You have no need to. I was in love with a woman for years. But believe me, you would only regret it later. Now come out."

The steward gazed at his lady, whose expression was grim. She looked up at him briefly, her disappointment left unsaid. Only Faramir saw how she steeled herself, then she made to rise.

Aragorn turned his back and the other man followed his example. He only heard rustling as she picked up her cloak and wrapped it around herself. Out of the corner of his eye, Faramir confirmed that she was dressed. She had retreated a few steps, and turned away to give him the opportunity to step out of the bath.

Faramir dried himself cursorily and threw on his breeches and tunic. Once he was done, Éowyn met his eyes for an instant before striding out of the door defiantly without even a backward glance at Aragorn.

Faramir cast an admiring look at her back. He hoped fervently that she would not be seen as she returned to her rooms.

"Let's go," Aragorn said and indicated that Faramir should go first. "I believe your rooms will suffice for this discussion."

As Faramir led the way, the King followed him so closely the prince imagined he felt his warm breath on the back of his neck.

"Inside," Aragorn ordered. Faramir obeyed. "Sit," he commanded once inside. Again the younger man did as told. The King remained standing, and though the roles in a trial were usually reversed, Faramir felt as if this were one.

"Now speak. What did the Lady Éowyn intent with this episode?"

"'Twas not the Lady Éowyn alone, I had a part in it as well," Faramir attempted to divert. Aragorn made a negligent gesture with his hand.

"I could see that," he said and the Steward thought he noticed the other man's lips twitching as if to smile. "But you digress."

"My apologies," Faramir lowered his head. "I asked the Lady for her hand and she agreed. But the Lord Éomer will not give his permission."

"Why is that?"

"I do not know, Sire."

"And what did you hope to achieve today?"

"We only wished to steal a moment together." Faramir lifted his head to meet the king's gaze steadily.

"You lie," Aragorn accused him, voice level.

Faramir flushed with embarrassment. "We ... we thought to pressure Éomer into giving his permission after we..." The prince trailed off.

"If you cannot even say it then perhaps you should not be doing it," Aragorn reprimanded him.

"I'm surprised you thought it would work. Éomer would be more likely to castrate you. You are lucky it was not he who found you."

"Forgive me Sire for my lack of judgement."

Aragorn sighed and shook his head. "I do not think I need to tell you to refrain from further idiocies like this. However, I feel for you. Do you love the Lady Éowyn?"

"More than anything else."

"And does she love you?"

"So she has said, yes."

Aragorn studied him closely for a moment before he said: "I understand how difficult it is for you not to follow the call of your love; I have been where you are, and I admit to having taken opportunities Lord Elrond would certainly not have approved of, no matter how harmless we considered them. I do not know the reasons for Éomer's reluctance, but whatever they are, it does not become a lord to go as far as you have. But I am willing to help two people for whom I have great fondness, and I promise to have a word with Éomer on this matter myself. In return, however, I expect you to promise me that you and your lady shall refrain from further rash actions."

Faramir buried his face in his hands to regain his composure, nothing but an unsteady intake of breath audible. Then he turned back to the king.

"Then I have not disappointed you?" he asked desperately.

Aragorn looked surprised. "Disappointed? No, Faramir. We all make mistakes. Now stand up." And he drew the younger man to his feet himself to embrace him. The Steward readily accepted it.

"I do not think I need to bother you any longer. Remember what I said, however: do not do anything foolish, no matter what your lady says to convince you otherwise. Tomorrow I shall speak to Éomer."

"Thank you, Sire."

The king only nodded. "Goodnight."

Once alone, Faramir dropped onto the bed. Valar willing, the king's intervention would bear fruit. He rubbed his eyes and sighed, then readied himself for bed.

* * *

**III 3019, July 21, afternoon**

Faramir felt misplaced in his father's office. He had never even sat in his father's chair until his death. To be there now made him feel uneasy, as if he were ten years old and his father might come in at any moment and chastise him for playing in his office.

Aragorn had decreed that Ithilien would be the new seat of the steward in Gondor unless he was absolutely needed in Minas Tirith, and so Faramir was occupied with sorting out the papers filling Denethor's office. They were in order, of course, but the former steward had never thought it necessary to inform the younger son of the way he worked. And as Denethor had not even employed a secretary or an assistant in the last couple of years, Faramir was now forced to find out everything by himself; he had to see which papers he could leave in Minas Tirith, which he would need to take to Ithilien, and which papers he did not need at all and could dispose of.

Usually he was left alone. Even for the most mundane matters the Gondorian advisors would go to see Elessar, whether to gape at the king or because they did not think Faramir capable, the prince did not know. Thus the knock on his door caught him off guard and he wobbled dangerously on the chair which he was currently using as a ladder to examine the contents of the very top shelf. His voice sounded slightly strained as he called for the person to enter. At the same time he clutched desperately at the shelf to steady himself. He almost lost his precarious hold when Éomer entered.

"Lord Faramir," The horselord greeted, pausing at the threshold in surprise at Faramir's activity and simply observing for a moment. Perhaps he contemplated that if Faramir were to fall and break his neck, his sister would not be able to marry him anymore. But he pulled himself almost visibly together and approached to help Faramir down.

"I have come to speak to you," he said.

Faramir nodded and forced himself to keep his composure. It would do him no good to stutter in front of Éowyn's brother, who effectively held their future in his hands.

"Please sit," he said, then suddenly noticed that the only other chair in the room was occupied by a pile of books and more papers. Hurriedly he cleared it while Éomer looked on with an unreadable face.

Once Faramir was seated himself he asked: "How may I help you?"

Éomer merely studied him for another moment while Faramir strove not to show his anxiety.

"You asked for my permission to wed my sister." The horselord paused. Finally Faramir decided to affirm:

"That's true."

"Have you changed your mind?" Éomer's dark expression did not reveal which answer was worse; that Faramir had changed his mind or that he hadn't.

"No. We wish to wed."

"She is the only one left of my family. I expect you to care for her." With that Éomer abruptly stood and turned to leave.

Faramir jumped off his chair. "Wait! Do you mean we have your permission?"

Éomer turned back at the door. "Yes," he merely said. Then he left.

Faramir's hands clutched into fists, his whole body tense as he fought not to shout for joy.

_'Hear then all my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as have never before been gathered in this hall! Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all.'_

(...) 'No niggard are you, Éomer,' said Aragorn, 'to give thus to Gondor the fairest thing in your realm!'*

**Author's Note:**

> *quoted from The Lord of the Rings, The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter VI "Many Partings


End file.
